


Prestidigitation

by Lokei



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokei/pseuds/Lokei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knights contemplate alternate employment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prestidigitation

**Author's Note:**

> for inlovewithnight’s songfic challenge, [The Magician (Jason Isbell)](http://www.sendspace.com/file/25k4ej). Many thanks to the gracious romanticalgirl for her stunning beta job.

_  
You watch every move  
and call it slight of hand  
you know it's what I do  
but never who I am, never who I am   
_

It wasn’t Galahad’s fault, Lancelot thought with as much crumbling charitable feeling as he could muster.They were within a year of freedom, all of them that were left, and that nagging itch for it was growing more persistent, even if they were equally persistent in their attempts to ignore it.

So it wasn’t really Galahad’s fault.He had simply asked Gawain what the man would be if he were not a knight—and thereby opened the gates to an entire evening of useless speculation.

“I expect I’d muddle through about anything,” Gawain had answered easily, which suited his nature.“Bors, though, the man should run a taverna, hey?Get off his lazy ass and give Vanora a hand instead of another mouth to feed.”

At which Bors, predictably, laughed uproariously and declaimed loudly that Vanora was a fine woman and not in need of any help, though a taverna, now, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, so long as he could still fight now and then—but Dagonet, hey, if he turned farmer, with those big hands of his he wouldn’t even need to have an ox, what do you say?

And Dagonet, equally predictably, had said nothing, though he looked at his hands with a sort of rueful smile and shrugged.His speaking eyes met Lancelot’s, though, and Lancelot knew farming would not be Dagonet’s first choice any more than it would be his own.The man dreamed of the delicate and intricate gold-work of the steppes though none but Lancelot knew it: Dagonet seemed content to keep his visions quiet.

“And we know Tristan would be the same, soldier or no,” Gawain was saying with a lazy drawl, saluting their tattooed comrade over the rim of his mug.“Off with the birds and the wild things and scaring the piss out of everyone when he suddenly appears at their fireside looking half-Woad.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows in agreement.“Maybe so.”He looked consideringly at the man who was vying for the title of most silent of the evening.“And you, Lancelot?”

“Ah, Lance’d fight whether he were here or home,” Bors said loudly, not that Lancelot had had any intention of answering anyway.What use was it to think what he could have been?He’d probably die before he saw freedom as it was, as so many of his kinsmen had done, so many of his friends.They had had dreams of homes and families and the wide grasslands, and it hadn’t gotten them anywhere.

“A mercenary, you think?”Arthur’s voice was sudden and unexpected, floating out ahead of him from the shadows behind Lancelot’s shoulder.“Fighting against Rome, no doubt,” he added as he joined them at the table.There was a smirk on his lips that Lancelot ached to swipe away, but he simply raised his eyebrows and replied, his tone mocking,

“And you would be a priest, no doubt.You and your God and your Rome.All your fighting done with pretty words.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened and suddenly Lancelot needed air.He put down his mug with rather more force than was absolutely necessary and stood, heading for the darkness and peace of the stables without another word.

He knew no one would call after him.

No one did.

Minutes later, he was in the stables, waiting for Arthur.Who was no doubt coming after him.He always did.

“I know too much of sin to be a priest, Lancelot.”If Lancelot concentrated he could feel the callouses on Arthur’s fingers through the worn fabric of the shirt on his shoulder.He said nothing—Arthur knew perfectly well his knight’s opinion of priests and sin.

“Just as you know too much of blood to be a mercenary,” Arthur’s quiet voice was relentless, like the pressure of his heavy hand, though it was the surprise of what he said that tricked Lancelot into turning to face his commander.

Arthur’s face bore the trace of a tiredly ironic smile, which might once have been learned from Lancelot’s own visage.“I know too much of you, as well, do I not?”

“And I suppose both of those would be my fault,” Lancelot snapped, unwilling to be appeased by the smile or the hands which had resumed their spots upon his shoulders.

Arthur’s smile widened slightly.“If you will,” he agreed, hands finally letting go, body shifting back slightly to look at Lancelot with his usual serious expression.

“You would be a chief among your people, Lancelot,” he said softly.“You would fight me for them, you would stand up for them against anyone who dares impugn them. Even here, after all this time, you know them better than anyone.”He held up a hand to forestall Lancelot’s irritable dismissal, and continued, “What is it Dagonet wishes?”

Lancelot’s eyes burned and his lips thinned.Arthur nodded, as if this confirmed his theory.

“You don’t have to tell me.But you know them the way I know you.I know them because of you.If this world were equal, you would follow no man.Not even me.”

Lancelot’s face had hinted at softening, but at the last three words, it tightened once more.He turned silently and sidled past Arthur, leather whispering close, and did not look up until he reached the door.

He left, his words the only thing in the darkness of the empty doorway. “Then you do not know me so well as you think.”


End file.
